


With You Wherever You Are

by dangerousdaydream



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Established Relationship, John is a soldier, M/M, World War II, surprise proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerousdaydream/pseuds/dangerousdaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He went about his day-to-day routine without him (at that point it had been for nearly a year), and he always checked the mail hoping to find a letter saying his soldier was finally coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With You Wherever You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas, everyone! I decided to try to write something festive and happy for the holiday, so I came up with this one-shot, because I adore John as a soldier and the idea of them living in the past and I had to do this. I had to. I did a lot of research on the different branches of the Army and the events of WWII as well to make it as historically accurate as I could. Enjoy!
> 
> This is for my very good friend who I absolutely adore and I hope likes this, because I think she's amazing and Johnstrade is our OTP. <3

All Greg Lestrade wanted for Christmas was John.

The nearly fifty-year-old had never expected to need to worry about him being enlisted in the Army again, they were far too old for that now, but his spouse, younger than him by nearly ten years and still very fit despite appearances, had been told he needed to return not to fight, but to lead a group of new recruits. (The call to arms had come to him straight from King George VI himself -- how could he refuse?) It was supposed to be a leadership role with a promotion to Lieutenant Colonel, and he would be safe in the United Kingdom.

Or, at least, that was what they had thought, until Greg got a letter from the man saying he was being deployed to France for recon in April of 1942. The Detective Inspector felt a certain fear for him, but he believed in the man more than he believed in anyone, so he kept his hopes up. He went about his day-to-day routine without him (at that point it had been for nearly a year), and he always checked the mail hoping to find a letter saying his soldier was finally coming home.

And then he was sitting beside the radio, listening intently to the calming music as he read a book, when the song came to an abrupt end and he heard the voice of his King. He put the book down and gave the small box on his mantel his full attention. The 8th Battalion of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, the branch of the Army that his beloved John was a part of, had been ambushed and suffered heavy casualties at the hands of the Germans. Greg felt his heart sink and he couldn't breathe for a moment. Was John one of those lost?

Days later, Greg was pacing numbly about his office, his mind fixated on those warm brown eyes that he may never see again, those small, rough fingers that he had never had the courage to adorn with a ring, and he felt so much regret that it brought him to his knees. What a sight he was. It was then that a tall, very clean-cut man entered the room and closed the door behind him. He didn't announce himself, merely stood there looking down on the man who was crying on the floor. "Inspector," he said quietly.

"No," Greg cried, shaking his head vigorously as he stood, staggering back into the desk as soon as he was on his feet. "No, please. Don't tell me. Please, I know why you're here, and I appreciate you doing it in person instead of letting me read it in a fucking letter, but--"

"Relax," his visitor said calmly, holding out the letter that was in his hand. "It isn't what you think."

Greg blinked a few times, then cautiously took the envelope and removed the folded paper inside. He paused when he saw that familiar handwriting. No... Could it be? He fell silent, his bottom lip disappearing into his mouth, then he started to cry again. "He's alive," he managed, hiding his face in his hands and letting the paper fall to the ground. "I can't believe it. He's actually alive. Oh, Mr. Holmes, thank you."

"Mycroft, please," the man said, suddenly looking awkward and uncomfortable. He wasn't one who could comfort anyone, not unless that someone were his insufferable younger brother, so this was strange for him. "We just received word of who the survivors were, and one John Hamish Watson was among them. I felt obligated to inform you, as you wouldn't have known for a long time otherwise. This letter was intercepted and most didn't want to let you have it, but I refused to keep you in the dark like that." Mycroft paused, as if considering whether or not to say more, before he continued speaking. "They're being held in an Allied infirmary in France, far away from any potential harm. He's wounded, but alive. Fought valiantly, from what I was told."

"That's my soldier," Greg said fondly, smiling as he closed his eyes against the falling tears.

That was the end of May. Seven months passed and every day made Greg more anxious than the last, because there were no letters anymore. There was nothing. He kept waking up expecting to find that John had died after all, but that day never came.

Now it was the 24th of December, Christmas Eve, and Greg found himself all alone in his living room, a mug of hot cocoa in his hands (tea just didn't sound good to him right now) as he listened to King George VI give his Christmas speech over the radio. He sipped the hot liquid as his thoughts drifted to the day he had taken a chance, put his whole being on the line, when he asked John to be his. 

It was on a night much like this one. The two had been walking from a particularly gruesome crime scene, hands stuffed in pockets to keep them warm, when Greg finally gathered up the courage he had been trying to have for almost two years and asked. They were completely alone, thankfully, as Greg lived on the outskirts of the Greater London area and John was a short walk down a few more blocks, and the DI was nervous and shy and unsure of himself because what if he was wrong and John wasn't actually gay? It was against the law to be homosexual in England; one of Greg's good friends had been arrested for just that only a short time before this. He didn't want to endanger either of them, however he just couldn't bear keeping this growing infatuation a secret anymore. So he asked the Army doctor to give him a chance, to which John stood on his toes and kissed him on the cheek and said "of course".

Those memories were the ones Greg was particularly fond of, because he managed to overcome all of his fears and do something so outlandish and crazy, something so beyond his normal comfort level, all for the simple fact that he was in love with this short blond with the beautiful smile and the warm eyes. John had been his for nearly six years, and with every day that passed, the silver-haired man loved him more and more.

He must have been drifting off, for he never heard the end of the King's speech, and he was startled awake by a soft 'click' sound, somewhat resembling a door closing. He opened his eyes and yawned, thinking he had heard things, when the sound of something soft hitting the floor echoed through the quiet space.

"Hello?" Greg called, standing up and placing his now cold cocoa on the table beside him. "Is someone here?"

No answer. Okay, maybe it was time for bed. He stretched a bit and yawned again, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands as his lover's face came to mind again. He sighed heavily, growing even more sad with every second that ticked by, and he looked down at the carpet just as the clock struck midnight.

"Happy Christmas," he said to no one, lifting his head with the intent of walking towards the stairs.

Except when he did, he saw a short man in an army uniform with the Lieutenant Colonel insignia on both arms. He wore a warm smile and held his hat under one arm. His fingers were curled around a cane and he stood very straight and proud. Greg felt the air rush out of him and tears immediately filled his eyes.

"John."

"Happy Christmas, Greg." The man's lips moved, producing the most glorious words the DI had ever heard. The sound of his voice was music to his ears and he hiccuped, trying to keep his tears at bay. "I've missed you."

Oh, to hell with keeping himself calm. Greg dropped the book he was holding and rushed forward, holding the man in his arms and crying into his shoulder. "You're alive. I can't believe... Why are you here? Did they release you? Are you... No, don't listen to me, it doesn't matter why you're back, just that you are and I love you and I cannot even tell you how much I've missed you."

John shifted his position a bit, finally opting to just drop his cane and throw his hat onto the chair so he could wrap his arms around Greg. His eyes closed and he smiled happily. "The battalion disbanded because of the casualties we suffered. I'm home for good, Greg. I'm not going to leave you again."

Greg pulled away to look at John, his hands cupping the man's face as he stared lovingly into his eyes. Oh, how he had missed him. "I love you. I love you so much. I'm so glad you're safe."

John smiled, standing on his toes so he could kiss him for the first time in nearly nineteen months. He held onto his waist and hummed softly, smiling wider against his lips as he drew out the kiss for as long as he could before pulling away. "I have another surprise for you."

"What could I possibly want that would amount to this?"

"Hold that thought." John went into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. Greg eyed it curiously, expecting it to contain a medal or something. "Picked it up before I came here."

Ah, so not a medal. Or an award. What could it be, then? Certainly not... Wait... "John, you...?"

Sure enough, John went down onto one knee and smiled up at Greg, his eyes brimming with tears of his own. "When I was over there, fighting against an enemy I couldn't even hope to defeat, do you know what I kept thinking of?" Greg just stared, mystified by him. "That weekend we spent in bed for our two year anniversary, all snuggled up under blankets and talking about our future. Or when you first asked me on a date. Or when you kissed me and I would feel my heart soar and how that still hasn't changed after six years. I thought of you and that smile on your face when I get mad, or how you have always been the only man who could make me feel like a sodding teenager at thirty-nine. I thought of how I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you have made me, and how if I got out of there with my life, I wouldn't hesitate to ask you to be mine forever if I got the chance to." He stood up and took Greg's hands in his, smiling softly at the now sobbing man. "You give me strength when I feel weak. You give me hope when I have none. You're my rock, my shelter, my whole life. I would be nothing without you. I love you, Greg Lestrade. I love you with everything I am. Will you be mine for the rest of our lives?"

Greg couldn't speak. He couldn't think. He leaned forward and kissed him for a long while, holding him close by the waist as tears, hot and fat, rolled down his cheeks. When he pulled away, he smiled. "Hold on," he managed before hurrying out of the room, leaving the soldier confused. When he returned, he was holding a similar black box in his hand. "I was going to ask you if you would be mine too. I bought this when I learned you were still alive."

John smiled as he kissed Greg again. "So is that a yes?"

"Of course." 

Silver rings were exchanged and both stared at them for a moment, admiring the way they sparkled on their fingers. Greg took John's hand in his and lifted it to his lips, resulting in a soft blush in the face of the soldier he would wake up next to every morning for the rest of his life.

Greg couldn't have asked for a better Christmas.


End file.
